Canvas Hearts
by Semebay
Summary: Alfred was a simple movie star. Then Alfred decided to try a new guy, one of the supposed best in the business. Also, a note for followers waiting for an update on other works.


A/N: I don't have any intentions of continuing this in the near future. I would like to do a oneshot to explain more, but I don't know if I'd be able to do so. I've had this on my hard drive for a while and neatened it up and finished it tonight. I suppose this note is mainly for people that follow me and are waiting for the other works I've been promising (notably the edited and complete version of Punishment). My father killed himself on Sunday night, and the immediate future is rather... bleak right now. That's not to say that things wont be complete, because they definitely will and I will continue writing fanfic because it's what I love to do, and it's what I want to do. I'm sorry for how rushed this fic may feel, but I wanted to finish it. Otherwise it would die in the bowels of my computer.

I hope you enjoy it even a little bit. :) and sorry for sounding like an attention whore orz

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><p>Relationships were annoying. Arthur had long believed that. He had always felt that relationships were rather petty with the distressing splits and the jealousy that always seemed to result for <em>some<em> reason or other. He had been in enough relationships to lose interest. From the asshole who had cheated to the Frenchman that had somehow gotten it into his head that Arthur was the one cheating because of his job, Arthur had seen and dealt with enough. He had lost interest in the fighting and aggravation of the people that he always ended up with, and so he concentrated on his work.

Arthur was lucky his job was interesting. He received plenty of strange looks when people found out what he did for a living. Most people who thought of makeup artists thought of petite women with a bag of tricks. They didn't think of the man with the thick eyebrows and toolbox full of supplies who always had a scowl for whomever was unlucky enough to require his services. People either recoiled when they saw him, or they accepted his presence with a groan. It didn't matter that he was one of the best. He just had a very hostile presence that people tended to dislike.

Not that it mattered when Arthur had them sit back and listen to music on their mp3 players while he worked on their makeup. He liked the few who would fall asleep while he applied foundation or painted on shadows. He would hum to himself and get lost in his work, picturing the end result while his fingers moved to make it a reality.

He could turn people into corpses or angels if he so pleased. All it took was some shading and color and Arthur could sharpen or soften features and transform the person he worked on into someone completely different.

Arthur never paid attention to who he worked on. He was more interested in skin, and how he could change it. The person was only an observer to his craft, and had nothing to do with him.

Arthur hadn't really expected or wanted things to change. When he woke one morning to his phone ringing and almost accidentally hung up before he answered, he figured his gruff voice would have chased off whoever was on the other end.

Instead he accepted a job for some movie that was being filmed three hours from where he lived. Apparently the star didn't have an artist in mind and wanted to try someone different, even if that "someone different" was someone usually reserved for magazine shoots. Arthur could count on one hand how many times he had worked for television shows, and had no movie makeup experience at all.

Arthur didn't even know what kind of movie it was supposed to be. He walked into the front lobby of some large hotel with his rolling suitcase dragging behind and waited twenty minutes by the front desk for the person who had called him. When a woman just older than him appeared, she thrust her hand out, took his in hers and shook it.

"Elizabeta Héderváry," she told him. Arthur checked her clothes quickly in an attempt to figure out how he would be expected to behave. Black skirt and suit jacket, brown hair pulled back behind her shoulders so that it covered her upper back, a flower clip keeping her hair from falling in her face. She was probably serious, though the clip would imply she was playful. She turned from him and walked away, prompting him to follow without a word.

Arthur adjusted his grip on the handle of his suitcase and followed behind the woman. She opened a cell phone as soon as she had talked to him, and then she was speaking rapidly in some language that Arthur couldn't identify. After a minute she slipped into English and Arthur couldn't help but listen.

"Alfred, you'd better be waiting and dressed," she said into the phone. "Mr. Kirkland is walking with me to your room as we speak." She stopped walking before an elevator and pressed a button on the wall beside it. "We'll be there in less than two minutes. You'd better be ready and presentable." She clicked her phone shut and slipped it into the breast pocket of her jacket just as the doors opened. She stepped inside and waited for Arthur to follow her before she pressed the button for the seventh floor. "Alfred Jones," she said as soon as the doors were shut and the elevator started to rise. "He'll probably want you to call him Alfred. He's big on first names, so don't be surprised if he starts calling you Arthur. He's…" She hesitated. "He's incredibly blunt."

"I've seen a lot of people, Ms. Héderváry. I'm sure I'll be able to adjust."

"Elizabeta's fine." The elevator stopped rising and lowered slightly as it locked into place, and then the door opened. Elizabeta led Arthur out and down the hall, pulling a card from the same pocket as her cell phone while she walked.

"Then call me Arthur." Arthur walked just behind her and to the side. He looked around the hall they walked through. There was a door roughly every thirty feet, and he couldn't imagine how large the rooms behind them were. The hall was carpeted in red and the walls were a deep mahogany with golden molding. It was all rather extravagant, and Arthur envied the people that could afford to stay there. He made a decent salary with his work, but much of it went into supplies. Staying in a ritzy hotel wasn't in his immediate future. Or any future, really.

Elizabeta stopped before one of the doors at the end of the hall and stood outside it. She didn't bother knocking before she slid her card into the door handle and pushed it open.

It was bigger than Arthur could have imagined. The door opened into a large living room carpeted with a red that matched the hall. The walls were off-white with gold trim around the large windows and painted into the molding. An archway led into a small kitchenette, and there were three other doors that likely led to a bathroom, a bedroom, and either another bedroom or a closet. Arthur wasn't really interested in where they led; he was more curious about how big the rooms were.

In the center of the room was Alfred Jones. He stood between two large red couches and before a dark brown coffee table and held a mug in his hand, his arm tilted slightly so that he could look at the watch on his wrist.

"You're good," Alfred said with wide eyes. He sounded almost awed. "Like, five-seconds-before-you-said-you'd-be-here good."

"Don't act like me doing my job is a surprise." Elizabeta smiled. "Now, Mr. Kirkland has graciously decided to step on board as your makeup artist. Don't be stubborn, behave, be polite… Is there anything else I'm missing?"

"I think you got it," Alfred told her. He pointed his index finger at her, clucked his tongue and winked.

"Right." Elizabeta walked towards Alfred only to push him aside and pick up a folder that had been resting on the coffee table. She ignored Alfred's complaints of "manhandling" and walked back to give it to Arthur. "You might want to look at the scenes, get an idea of what you want to do with him. Today just get acquainted, do your thing. A past employer told me you like extra time before to see how the skin reacts with the chemicals…"She waved her hands in the air. "Do what you have to do."

"Wait, isn't someone supposed to tell me what they want?" Arthur asked quickly after he had opened the folder to look at the contents, but she was already gone. He was left holding the folder and staring at the closed door, until Alfred caught his attention by grabbing his shoulders and forcibly turning him around. Then Alfred took one of his hands, almost making Arthur drop the folder, and shook it.

"Name's Alfred!" he told him. "Nice to meet you, Artie!"

Arthur's new job was already vastly different from any others.

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><p>"For the last time, the name isn't <em>Artie<em>," Arthur growled, tempted to stab Alfred in the neck with the handle of his brush. It was a shame Alfred had a big mouth; his skin was beautiful. It was a lovely tan, smooth save for the stubble that he had had to shave off before testing the makeup on Alfred's chin. When Alfred had told him to do what he wanted with it, Arthur hadn't hesitated. Alfred hadn't looked at all intimidated by the suitcase that Arthur had dragged into the bathroom after setting Alfred up on a barstool from the kitchenette, though he probably should have been.

Arthur opened the case to reveal rows and rows of makeup and other products that Alfred couldn't possibly hope to identify. Arthur had to give him credit: a lot of people usually clammed up at that point in time. Instead, Alfred kept talking and talking and talking to the point that Arthur seriously considered telling him that he wasn't there for a conversation but for a job, and that he didn't want to listen to the ravings of a lunatic.

"Most people don't talk while I'm working," Arthur informed him, but Alfred missed the double meaning.

"You're not by my mouth, you're by my hair. And are you done yet?"

Arthur grimaced. "Almost. Do you mind if I put something in it?"

"In what?"

"Your _hair_."

"Oh. Sure, go ahead."

Alfred saw the smile that momentarily lit Arthur's face, but he didn't comment on it (though it was the first that Arthur had really shown anything but a neutral stare or frown). Arthur disappeared into the suitcase and came out with a small bottle of brown fluid, and Alfred frowned.

"Are you dying my hair? Not cool. I'm blond in the movie."

"It's not dye."

As if it mattered at that point. Arthur had already poured some of the fluid into Alfred's hair. Alfred rather enjoyed the feeling of Arthur running his fingers through his hair and chasing after the liquid. He started to sink down, relaxed by the massage, when Arthur pulled his hands away and went to wash in the sink.

"Done," Arthur told him, and Alfred sat up. Arthur wiped his hands on a towel from his suitcase and grabbed a large mirror from the counter.

Alfred took the mirror eagerly and grinned when he looked into the mirror, then his expression fell and he stared at himself in shock.

"Like it?" Arthur asked, and Alfred looked up at him wordlessly.

"What _is_ this?" Alfred asked, and Arthur pulled the mirror up so that they could both look into it. He gestured to the mirror.

"Well, a bit of shading with eyeliner here," Arthur circled the eyes on the mirror with his finger, "gave your eyes the sunken look. Some blush and some shadowing give your face the same, hollow if you like that word. Bit of colored gel in your hair to give that dirty faded look."

"I look…" Alfred touched his face as though to check that his cheeks were still normal, and he frowned.

"Emaciated?" Arthur offered after a moment, and Alfred nodded.

"Dude… You're awesome."

"Thank you."

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><p>Alfred had been more than impressed by Arthur's work, and had immediately told Elizabeta how awesome he was. Of course, he had failed to wash the makeup off with the cleanser Arthur had given him. It had resulted in the poor manager almost having an aneurysm upon first seeing his face, but luckily she had recovered enough to appreciate the finer aspects of Arthur's art.<p>

The word was good, and Arthur was sticking around.

Arthur was quite happy with the news. He had been guaranteed a rather large sum of money for his work, an amount that far surpassed what he had made working with models and television stars. The work was harder of course, which was part of the reason he was paid so much more. Alfred's character was some sort of historic hero, so the makeup was rather tame. Arthur simply had to darken some of Alfred's features, make him look a little dirtier from hard work. There was also a scar that Arthur had to create with latex every morning before shooting began.

It was rather interesting trying to put the scar on in Alfred's trailer. Many times they had to travel to an outdoor location where Alfred could play the gunslinger with his trusty steed, and the easiest thing to use for Alfred's trailer was some camper that Elizabeta had managed to get her hands on. Fully furnished, it was rather comfortable, though it was a pain in the ass moving around while trying to get all of Alfred's makeup just right.

There were quite a few scenes shot at dawn, so Arthur would often arrive at two in the morning to fix Alfred's makeup while the actor collapsed on the chair inside his trailer and slept. Then Arthur would fall asleep in one of the chairs while Alfred went out to do his job, and would only wake for scene changes and touchups (though most of the touchups were done by other makeup artists on set).

When the filming moved farther away to a fake town that that had been erected, Alfred moved to a new hotel and Arthur booked a cheaper room in that hotel. It was easier being closer; Arthur had lost a lot of sleep when he had had to travel to meet Alfred, and by being closer he was able to be on set more.

That wasn't to say that Arthur liked being on set. He didn't. They were either in the fake set or some field (occasionally they were in the middle of a forest for some fight or horseback riding scenes), and Arthur had nothing to do. He could watch them film or wait for Alfred to need a touchup, but otherwise they just wanted him to sit and wait. It had long been decided that he was only Alfred's artist simply because he intimidated the other actors on set, and no one was willing to work with him.

Not that anyone cared. Elizabeta had pointed out that having Arthur concentrate on only Alfred would ensure that the lead's makeup wouldn't suffer from Arthur splitting his attention between multiple people.

That was also one of the excuses Elizabeta (and Alfred) used when they told Arthur he should stay in the same room as Alfred.

Arthur wasn't surprised that Alfred was asking, but Elizabeta confused him. Alfred had become completely comfortable around Arthur, almost to the point of being clingy, but Elizabeta had never seen that side of them nor did she know exactly how they acted around each other while alone. It had been some time since Arthur had threatened Alfred with bodily harm for calling him Artie, and Alfred used Arthur to practice his lines (Arthur was only mildly annoyed that he always ended up with the female lead's lines).

Arthur moved in with Alfred, if only because it was cheaper. The spare room in Alfred's suite was bigger than the room he had booked before, and the bed was heavenly. There was also the fact that Alfred made hamburgers on his few days off, and while Arthur certainly didn't love the food, it was rather filling and kind of good. It was also more convenient being in Alfred's suite, as he could wake Alfred up and make sure that they weren't always late to the set.

Arthur probably knew something was going on, even if he didn't want to own up to it. He really should have owned up to whatever he was feeling. When Alfred surprised him by asking why he liked working on him so much, the filter he tried to keep on his brain slipped and he shrugged.

"Human skin is like a canvas. Yours even more so. It's really perfect to work with."

"You like art?" Alfred asked, and Arthur nodded.

"I have a degree. Majored in it in college. Then realized how much fun it is to paint on skin." Arthur reached overhead to open one of the camper's cabinets, and he pulled out a clean brush to add some shading to Alfred's nose.

Alfred watched Arthur while he tapped the brush in a small bottle of powder. Before Arthur had a chance to line the brush up with Alfred's face, Alfred grabbed his wrist.

"Can I kiss you?" Alfred blurted before Arthur realized what was going on. It took a moment for the words to sink in, and Arthur gaped. "I'm not playing. I'm serious."

Arthur couldn't think of anything but to shrug, and Alfred pulled him closer.

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><p>It was almost embarrassing how quickly things changed. They had spent three months together during the filming of the movie, and then Alfred was off to shoot another film about action heroes in the future. Arthur wasn't let off the hook; he was pulled right along with Alfred, who insisted that the "best makeup dude thingie" had to stay with him. Not that Arthur minded. He enjoyed his work, and though he loathed to admit it, he enjoyed how close they had become.<p>

They kept getting closer.

Alfred was definitely interested, and the kiss he had requested wasn't for curiosity's sake. It had been an important kiss; it was just a peck on the lips, however it had done _something_. It had opened a door that neither had acknowledged before, beyond which were experiences and challenges that Arthur had been so careful to skirt around.

Alfred dragged Arthur through that door, and though Arthur should have been kicking and screaming, he had simply let it happen.

Arthur didn't push away Alfred's hugs or kisses. He knew that he was playing a dangerous game, that he was the hired help and Alfred was his boss. He understood that his reactions to Alfred's advances should have been to push him away and end the contact. He shouldn't have simply shrugged when Alfred had wanted a kiss, and should have left Alfred to sort out his own problems.

Arthur shouldn't have felt like crawling into Alfred's lap and continuing whatever had been started. God _damn_ he needed to get laid or something. That urge had been ridiculous.

"What kind of pizza?" Arthur asked. He stood at the dining table in their hotel room and looked down at a piece of paper on top of it. He held his cell phone open and waited for Alfred to stop staring at the TV and give him ideas.

"Everything." Alfred changed the channel to some action movie and Arthur shrugged before dialing and ordering.

It had been a long day, and Arthur was surprised that Alfred hadn't simply collapsed on the couch when they returned to the hotel. He had been put through hell during filming. The day had consisted of slogging through a swamp, waist-deep in water and weeds, and running through a forest to reach a waiting helicopter. It was far from easy, and though Alfred was certainly in shape for such maneuvers, it didn't mean that the activities didn't exhaust him. Arthur had noticed during the break between the swamp and forest transition (while he had been trying to fix the gash that he had painted on Alfred's forehead) that Alfred had been out of breath and trembling. Arthur had never seen Alfred that worn out before, and hadn't said a word when Alfred dropped on the couch to watch movies when they returned to the room.

It didn't take long for the pizza to arrive, and Arthur took it straight to the coffee table in front of Alfred. Alfred wasted no time in popping the box open and pulling a slice out to begin eating.

Arthur sat on one end of the couch ate in silence, staring at the TV without really seeing what was playing. He made sure to keep a napkin in sight to scrub the grease from his fingers, and while he was distracted by wiping his hands after his second piece, he failed to notice that Alfred had lain down on the couch.

Arthur only noticed when Alfred nudged his leg with a toe. Arthur looked down and frowned when Alfred's foot rested on his leg.

"Really?" Arthur pushed Alfred's foot off and ignored the "tsk" he received.

Alfred nudged Arthur's leg with his toe again.

Arthur sighed and dropped his napkin onto his empty plate. He looked at Alfred and waited.

Alfred lifted his arms and motioned with his fingers for Arthur to move closer.

"What do you want?" Arthur sighed and slid closer to Alfred. He shoved Alfred's legs off the couch and out of the way, and Alfred reached up to wrap his arms around Arthur's shoulders.

Alfred pulled Arthur down on top of him and Arthur gasped in surprise. They were in an incredibly awkward position, as Alfred was only half on the couch and Arthur was half-sitting and half-lying on top of him.

"I want a kiss."

Arthur laughed and lowered his forehead to Alfred's shoulder. "That's it? You always want kisses."

Alfred shrugged. He breathed deeply and Arthur rose and descended with his chest. "I want one that means something."

Arthur lifted his head slightly and looked up. Alfred was staring at him, his lips almost white with how hard he held them closed. Arthur was almost tempted to shrug and let Alfred do what he wanted.

Instead Arthur rested his head back on Alfred's shoulder. "What makes you think they haven't meant something all along?"

"You."

Arthur shut his eyes. "Me?"

"Yeah. You." Alfred pushed off the couch and moved his entire body down so that his head wasn't resting awkwardly resting on the arm, jostling Arthur and almost knocking him off. Arthur propped himself up by placing his forearm against Alfred's chest, and Alfred watched him right himself. "You've never started it, anything. You're only happy when you're doing makeup. I mean, we've been together for months, we spend time together, and you never do anything to me, and you're in love with your makeup."

Arthur arched an eyebrow in surprise. Alfred's face had turned bright red during his tired rant, and Arthur ran a finger over his cheek. He could feel the heat in his face growing, and he chuckled softly. "I don't do something without meaning it, even if I don't know it at the time."

Alfred blinked and his mouth hung open in confusion.

"You don't understand me, do you?"

Alfred shook his head.

Arthur brushed the back of his fingers over Alfred's cheek. "Your body is a canvas." He slid his fingers down Alfred's neck and traced his collarbone. He stopped when he reached the spot below Alfred's throat. "And only I can paint it."

Alfred stared at him with wide eyes. His breathing was fast, and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Understand?"

"Yeah," Alfred breathed.

Arthur couldn't hold back a sigh of relief. He pulled his hand back and patted it against Alfred's chest. "Well." He swallowed and tried to think of something to say or do without feeling incredibly awkward. "Well."

Alfred wasn't one for the awkward moments, it seemed. He reached up and pulled Arthur down on top of him again, holding him tightly and grinning.

"Luckiest phone call ever," Alfred decided. "I knew you were the best."


End file.
